


Perfection

by Nature_Nymph



Category: Berserk
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nature_Nymph/pseuds/Nature_Nymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only perfect memories were in her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Mother's Day fic for this year, partially inspired by my mom.

In the old days, Casca would have been first to proclaim that Griffith was the most perfect individual that she had ever seen or met. He might not have had godly perfection, but he was up there. 

But nowadays, she thought differently. Nowadays, Griffith had competition. The competition wasn’t a rival general, or a foreign king, or a deviant in the Midland Court. They weren’t even a roguish warrior like Guts.

Well, maybe the competition was a little bit like Guts. He had his dark hair, his rounded nose, and she could already see that fiery personality in him.

More like  _feel_  his personality rather than see it, since Casca had been carrying him inside of her for the last nine months until just three days ago.

Casca was profoundly intrigued by her son, so much so that when he fell asleep in her lap, she would spend the whole time inspecting him rather than to lay him down in his cradle and go about her own business. She would count his little toes and fingers one by one, seeing that they were all there; then she would go over to his arms and legs to make sure that they were proportionate;  she’d end by lightly tracing her finger along his facial features, redrawing his squinted eyes, his plush nose, chubby cheeks, puckered lips…

He could be described as nothing else but perfect.

She believed that most of his perfection came from the fact that he was totally innocent. He never experienced the things that she, Guts, or Griffith had: pain, fear, anger, nor even pleasure, joy, or peace. She wanted her son to experience all of those things - even the negative feelings (though to a lesser degree than any of the three of them experienced). She wanted him to feel the full potential of what it was like to be human.

She wanted so much for him, like any mother would want for her child.

And in the depths of her heart, Casca knew that she always wanted to be with her son, to have some fragment of herself present in his life. It was a childish thought, yes. She knew that he would one day grow up and start a life of his own, full of his own dreams and ambitions. There was no point in trying to defy it, or else he definitely would when the time came. All she could do as a mother was prepare him for the trials that this world offered, in hopes that he would be strong enough to make it on his own. It would be easier for the both of them when the time came. 

Casca knew that some people never had mothers who did that for them. If they did, sometimes what they offered still wasn’t enough. She knew that too well.

So whenever he felt frightened or unsure of himself, Casca would always tell her son that she would always be with him, in form or in spirit. 

But now, Casca had to face the reality: the reality that her son was so far away from her, unsure if he was alive or in another life. He was not allowed to even be a part of her body for long, let alone a part of her life. She never had a chance to tell anyone of his existence, or to feel him kicking inside of her. Casca even envied the fact that she was never able to feel the pain of giving birth to him. She never got the chance to cradle him for the first time to soothe his cries of life. Her son never even got a name.

She would never see him grow up, experiencing those feelings of happiness, anger, sadness, or love. She would never hear his hopes or dreams of the future. 

Knowing what her body had been through, Casca believed that she would probably never have the chance to do it again. Not that she wanted to start over that easily: she wanted  _that_  child. She didn’t want him to be replaced.

It even angered her to think that Guts had more memories of him than she, his own mother, not that they were very happy memories. She wondered if he felt that same pain as she did. He probably didn’t. Maybe a father’s pain, but not her pain - never her pain.

Perhaps the part that angered Casca most was that she couldn’t even protect him from the cruelties of the world, let alone prepare him for it; she’d never be able to see her child off on his journey.

Casca wanted to get angry for all of this and more. But she couldn’t. No, she wouldn’t. She didn’t want her son to be a memory of anger. Alas, she knew that his memory would not be one of happiness either.

All Casca could do on these gentle nights was stare at the shifting moon and stars, and think of the bittersweet dreams that she created in her mind: dreams of herself with her child.

Those were the only perfect memories.


End file.
